A Little Change of Heart
by The Official United Queendom
Summary: I bet you twenty dollars they'll get together by the end of the month. [FrUk (Fem!France x England), Fem!Canada x America]
1. Chapter 1

**A Little Change of Heart**

I bet you twenty dollars they'll get together by the end of the month. FrUk (Fem!France x England), Fem!Canada x America

France x England = Cancer x Taurus – Taurus may show his stubborn side but Cancer's patience will calm them down and mellow them out. So this kind of relationship works out great! :D

Reposting this for old times' sake!

~Beta'd by the awesome _A Drop of Starlight,_ mostly for the French (because i pestered her. She's too nice)

* * *

 _ **Day One and the Bet**_

Alfred F. Jones was on a mission. He was going to perform one of the holiest and noblest duties known to mankind, and make the world better for what he had done.

Namely, he was going to seek justice (cough, revenge). Against none other than -

"All right, just hear me out on this – Maddie, stop jumping around will you!?" Alfred F. Jones sighed in exasperation, and Maddie Williams quickly stopped her antics, not wanting to push her luck at being noticed (finally!).

"So this is how it went," Alfred said in various tones of seriousness, while Maddie examined (and tried not to laugh at) the Powerpoint being displayed on screen. "England beats America at the drinking contest on Saturday – which never happens, by the way, I swear he slipped something into my drink – don't laugh, Maddie, there goes my manly pride!" Maddie, unable to contain herself, was choking with laughter, oblivious to Alfred's distress.

"And so –" Maddie finally recovered enough to listen again. "And so –" Alfred struck what was meant to be a noble and heroic pose. "Revenge must be taken. A plan must be made – to regain America's pride and show that _America,_ not England, is the best and awesomest country in the entire world!"

"Best and awesomest," Maddie echoed, perking up. "All right, I'm in!"

"So here's the plan…"

"Get on with it already, Alfred - you've been talking for the whole hour!" Alfred flushed.

"Arthur will never know what – or who – hit him. Because there's always one person in the world capable of making him completely miserable at will. I'm sure she'll agree."

"You don't say…" Maddie gasped.

"Of course."

"But that means it's going to be…"

Alfred grinned evilly.

"France."

* * *

Arthur Kirkland made sure to scan the entire block thoroughly from all openings of his house before exiting. There would be no margin for error this time.

All clear. He sighed with relief and stepped out carefully and quietly, locking the door securely behind him before tiptoeing to his car in the driveway. Yes, it was embarrassing, but yes, it was absolutely necessary.

Over the years America had proved to be a formidable enemy in the way of pranks, and having learned a thing or two (the hard way), Arthur wasn't one to take any chances.

Perhaps switching Alfred's glass of whiskey with Russia's vodka (how in the world had neither noticed?) hadn't been such a good idea - because that officially meant Alfred would now be after his head.

Still, winning the drinking contest for the first time in his life had been pure bliss. Bragging to an annoyed and defeated Alfred had been even better. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner?

Ah well, no time for reflection now. Alfred might well be tracking his footsteps across the driveway with micro-sensor cameras or whatnot installed between the cracks of the sidewalk and disguised by that moss over there in the corner - or (gasp) what if he had sneaked them into Arthur's shoes sometime during the night? All right, so maybe Alfred wasn't _that_ much of a stalker. Come to think of it, he didn't even stalk at all. He usually just jumped right up in your face; being obvious was probably his one true calling in life.

Hah.

Arthur finally got to his car and was relieved to find that no stink bombs had gone off, no creepy jack-in-the-boxes had popped out of nowhere to scare him to death (as had happened to a certain country on the eve of July 4th), no secret pot of unidentified liquid had come splashing down onto his head from the garage door - God, Arthur's definition of pranks was getting old. He had to catch up or Alfred would own him sooner or later.

Later was better. For now he was safe. Arthur allowed himself a small smile as he unlocked his car door and slipped inside to start the engine.

Strange, his car smelled…different. Odd. And he could swear on his life that he knew that scent anywhere. Now if he could only remember it...

England, England, you're getting to be slow these days...

...Roses?

 _"BONJOUR, MON CHER AMI IGGY!"_ a loud squeal sounded from behind him, as a pair of hands simultaneously clapped themselves over his eyes.

Arthur screamed.

"What in bloody hell!?" Arthur spluttered as roses rained down into his lap.

 _"Angleterre, s'il vous plait!"_ Francine Bonnefoy removed her hands from Arthur's face and gave Arthur her most winning smile, although his back was facing her - he would probably see her in the rearview mirror, anyway.

"How in the _blazes_ did you get in here?" Arthur attempted to paste on a why-hello-there-nice-to-see-you-now-get-the-hell-out-of-my-car friendly smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "Oh, I see, you're working with America now. What a pleasant surprise!"

She ignored his highly obvious sarcasm. "What are you saying, _mon cher?_ You make my ears bleed with those profanities of yours. And my eyes hurt, too, at the sight of your so very _un_ sightly eyebrows." Arthur fixed her with a murderous glare before turning back around. It had no visible effect on her.

She would really have to thank Russia sometime.

"Kindly. Get. Out." He grumbled at the windshield, but he was no longer cursing. Oh, how wonderful! Since when had England become so…pliable?

 _"Pardonnez-moi?"_

"Oh, you bloody well heard me." Welp. There it was again. "I don't even care anymore how you got in here in the first place, just get out before I drag you out myself."

"Why do you have to be so mean to me, Angleterre?" Francine pouted at the back of his head. "You couldn't even, out of the goodness of your heart, drive a fellow country to the world meeting too?"

He gave no answer; she could feel the dangerous silence radiating off him, but ah, he was so cute when he was angry! She listened as he started the car and began to back out of the driveway.

"Merci beaucoup, mon cher," she sighed contentedly, resting against the seat.

"Put on your seat belt. And I'm not your 'dear,' or whatever you mean," groused Arthur, to a laugh from Francine, and they spent the rest of the trip in companionable silence.

In Francine's opinion only, of course.

* * *

Alfred and Maddie were sitting near the front of the meeting table, scanning all the countries walking in. It seemed two seats were still empty – two seats for two certain people. One of whom was supposed to be the _host_ of this whole world meeting…

Where the hell was England!?

Well…if everything was going according to plan…England was probably going to be rather late indeed. But not _thirty minutes late,_ thought Alfred.

Hopefully France hadn't killed him on the way here or anything.

Alfred craned his head to try to catch sight of the doorway over Russia's head, followed by Maddie. He tried to ignore the fact that her hand had brushed lightly against his – it was probably just an accident.

"Is France with him?" prodded Maddie next to his ear. At that Alfred tried to hide a smirk.

"You won't believe what she did."

"What?" Maddie looked as if she would rather not hear what he had to say. "It had better not be…you know…"

Alfred pasted on the calmest face he could. "I gave her one of his spare car keys."

"Oh, god," gasped Maddie, not getting the humor of the entire thing. But then again, she hadn't exactly heard the story firsthand from either France or England. And she didn't have a duty to defend her country like Alfred did – Alfred, like the noble hero he was, would have to keep a lookout for any sinister British activity and perhaps heroically place himself in the way of any evil pranks England might pull.

Yep. That was true American spirit right there.

Too bad no one appreciated _true_ heroes these days.

 _"Privet, Amerika,"_ Russia smiled and waved from his seat, not even bothering to move out of their way. "I hope you enjoyed my vodka on Saturday night? I never had the chance to ask you – but it _was_ my best store." His smile grew wider as Alfred's eyes bogged out in horrified realization.

" _You_ did that!?" Alfred nearly turned over the table in his haste to get at the Russian, and the combined efforts of Maddie and the Italy brothers only just kept him in his seat. "How dare you try to undermine the American pride with your foul drink? I'm going to lock you in a fast-food restaurant and stuff you with hamburgers all day long, see how you like that –"

"Ve~! Or pasta!" chimed in Italy.

" _Nyet,_ did you not notice?" Russia was still sitting calmly in his seat. "It was dear _Angliya_ the entire time. Oh, and I must warn you of the health risks of that beverage you call 'whiskey' – if it even _exists_ as a beverage –"

Alfred glared.

"Suffice it to say that we are 'on the same page,' as you Americans say," Russia said cheerfully as though he had not just been in danger of losing his life. He turned to look at the doorway. "And I believe the _true_ object of your hate has just arrived. Late, yes, but he is here."

* * *

There was a reason for Arthur's lateness. A very, very _good_ reason. He had only two words for it.

Francine. Bonnefoy. Is _. Horrible._

Okay, so that was four words. But still.

He was almost absolutely certain she had cast some curse over the building or something, because when they got there the elevators were oh so conveniently broken down, and the doorman had told them to take the stairs instead.

That had been the worst nightmare of his life – and that was putting it mildly.

"All right, France you frog. You'd better tell me the countercurse to the elevators _right now,_ or –"

"Whatever do you mean?" France was batting her eyelashes at him (okay, they were pretty – but that was beside the point). " _You're_ the one with magical powers, Angleterre."

"Yes, and _you're_ the one straight from the devil," Arthur retorted, ignoring her flirty tone of voice and resigning himself to trudging up the stairs. Forget the fact that he hadn't taken the stairs since almost never – if he could make it up these _twelve flights_ then he was competing in the Olympics and winning hands down.

Yep. No biggie. Not at _all._

France looked hurt at this latest compliment, and Arthur tried to suppress the small twinge of guilt he felt upon seeing her wounded expression. "Well, are we going or not?"

"Wait, I think my heel broke," France said sadly, taking off her shoe. Oh, so that was it. The guilt faded away immediately.

"…Are you serious."

Oh god. He knew what was going to happen, France was looking at him with those eyes of hers, he just knew it, he could become a mind-reader and fortune-teller for this…

She stretched her arms out towards him.

"Carry me, Angleterre?"

Just as he'd thought.

"NO." Arthur stomped up a few more steps. If France didn't follow him, so much the better.

"You are the most un-gentlemanly person I have ever had the misfortune to meet," France informed him sagely as she sprinted up the steps – wait, SPRINTED!? What in the – !?

Sure enough, she was already about twelve steps ahead of him now and still climbing even faster, one stiletto heel in each hand, leaping up in stockinged feet. Never mind that her legs were nicely shaped and fit-looking –

ARGH! How in the world did he get to such thoughts!?

He had to stop dallying.

"You're quite out of shape, too, it seems," she called back, and then vanished around a corner. "If you just stopped huffing and puffing like an old steam engine…"

"Shut up!"

Her laughter sounded in the air, seemingly coming from all directions and irritating Arthur to no end.

"You look rather _tousled,_ mon cher Angleterre," purred Francine, adjusting her heels as Arthur struggled up the last few steps, breathing heavily. Never mind the fact that she'd paused for quite a long rest as well – that sprint had only lasted two minutes or so – but no one needed to know that.

"You suck, France," he managed to wheeze out. "You bloody well _suck."_

"I don't think you're _quite_ in the position for throwing insults out now, are you, Angleterre."

"Shut up."

Even when he was half-dead and wheezing, he could still look so…cute.

"Here, I don't suppose you'll need this?" she said, giving him a handkerchief, but he ignored it.

"I don't need any of your help, frog," Arthur muttered angrily, not meeting her eyes, and Francine took the opportunity to push him up against the wall. She felt him freeze and silently gloated.

 _England has been one-upped!_

"Oh, but I _want_ to help," she breathed into his ear, which was now red, as was his entire face. "Certainly even the high-and-mighty England would appreciate some _assistance_ every now and then? Or am I mistaken?"

She reached up and dabbed lightly at his face, grinning evilly. "It may be _very_ noble of you but sometimes, it can also be rather… _foolish."_

He was still frozen in place, just staring down at her, and Francine had to admit, this situation was rather weird. Here she was, apparently _tending_ to her archenemy of olden days – her archenemy even now.

Their enmity was the most obvious thing in the world. Wasn't it? (Truth be told, it _had_ been going on for quite a long time.) If it wasn't Francine tormenting England (which she enjoyed a lot), it was him insulting her. Francine rather liked the first one better, as England's taunts often had a grain of truth in them.

And anyway, _this –_ this was simply out of spite. Oh yes. Francine reveled in the feeling of superiority over her fellow country – after all, it was practically her _right._ She certainly didn't want to get close to England for anything other than that.

Or…was there something else?

She didn't want to think about it, and almost instinctively stepped away from her rival.

"Well…we'd better get going. Everyone must be out of their minds awaiting us by now…" With one last smirk at Arthur, who was still standing there dumbly holding her handkerchief, she flounced off, a slight unsteadiness in her step that should not have been there.

Just blame it on the broken heel.

Then again, he probably wouldn't notice anyway.

After all, he _was_ England.

* * *

"You…are…going…to…pay," Arthur snarled, to a very bright and not at all evil smile from America, as the other nations milled around aimlessly in the aftermath of a fruitless discussion. (Maybe he shouldn't have called an hour-long break, but then again he needed time to sort out…matters…with a certain bloody infuriating little country…)

Thank goodness France was gone – she'd probably left to touch up her makeup or something. Arthur still shivered inwardly at the thought of being near her any more than necessary. That was borderline traumatizing as it was.

And what had happened just before the meeting…He almost choked on nothing.

It was not that they had been exhilaratingly close in those past few minutes. Or that they had been…exhilaratingly close. Or – SHUT UP! His mind screamed.

Okay. Okay. _Back_ to the matter at hand.

America was giving him an incredibly odd look, as though Arthur might just have admitted to eating caterpillars and drinking vodka in secret or something of that horribly unpleasant ilk. (Well, France w _as_ unpleasant – not to mention dangerous – but anyway.)

"What," he snapped.

"Oh, nothing," America said cheerfully as though nothing had happened. "But Iggy" – urgh, the way he said it was vomit-inducing – "you just spaced out. For the third time today." And then – horror of horrors – America waggled his eyebrows. "Might you have been daydreaming about something – or _someone? HUH?"_

"GAH! Why in hell's name would you –"

Do not think do not think DO NOT THINK DO NOT LET MIND WANDER TO – TO –

It was too late. His face was already heating up.

"Haha, gotcha – oh my that look on your face – oh my GAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" America doubled over in uncontrollable laughter. No one was around, but Arthur struggled to look like he was simply patronizing an overgrown idiot, just in case anyone happened to pass by. So far it seemed to be working quite well.

Then America recovered. Arthur decided not to give him time to jump to conclusions.

"Tell me, love," he growled in a voice that conveyed the exact opposite of his words (as if he even meant them), "just what do you mean by setting that shameless French hussy on me!?"

Alfred had the guts to look completely ignorant of the whole thing. "Wait what? I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Arthur!"

"Oh yes you do, you wily little git. Kindly remove her from my presence, or there will be hell to pay."

"Oh, but you two are usually bickering over something or other – why accuse me?" America said nonchalantly. "What _I_ would like to know is the reason for that nasty bit of _cheating_ you performed Saturday night."

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up despite himself. So he'd been found out – presumably by Russia, who was loyal to no one. What was he going to do now? Accept or deny? But he had to admit that he needed to get rid of France, and fast.

There was no doubt about it, she was dangerous.

And hence Arthur's panic. And hence his need for America's help.

Each word was a blow to his British pride, and he knew America was enjoying every single word of it. Oh, just wait…

"All right, I'm sorry," he gritted out. "It was me. Happy? Now you'd better tell me, or else…"

America, out of the great goodness of his heart (as he would have said so himself), did not push the matter further. "Since you apologized so nicely, I suppose things should work out fine. But as for France –"

"What about France?" Arthur was prepared to hang onto every word, if it meant he could get the girl away from him once and for all.

"Well…"

"Yes?"

"What I think is…"

"YES, ALFRED!?"

"…I don't think I can do anything about it."

It took a few moments for the words to sink in, and then Arthur felt his world collapse in on him.

His life was officially over.

"What do you mean _you can't help me!?"_ He grabbed onto the taller nation's arm. "NopleasesavemeAlfredI'mgoingtoDIE!"

"Don't worry, you'll live 'cause you're England, you know," America said un-comfortingly, patting him on the arm in what was probably meant to be a consolatory manner. "Just give it time – it's up to her anyway. I have no control over any of this."

Oh GOD no this could not be happening America could not just have helped to toss him into the bottomless Pit of Doom and was now _leaving him there to suffer and DIE-!_

"You're going to regret this because _you_ started it – if I die it's going to be on _your_ conscience -"

"Angleterre~!" The all-too-familiar voice sounded as a hand latched onto his arm, and Arthur tried to keep from screaming for help as France dragged him away to who-knows-where. (It turned out to be the nearby café but _still._ ) Oh goodness gracious, he was still too young to die!

"Have fun!" America called with a smirk.

If Arthur survived…well, America had better run for it then.

* * *

"You know what I think, Alfred?"

"What?" Alfred said boredly, without a touch of remorse (and maybe more than a touch of amusement) as he watched England leave, under duress, with a cheerful France in tow.

Maddie seemed happy to be listened to for once. "Well, _I_ think…they'll be the perfect couple!"

"You don't say." Alfred yawned widely. "Don't worry, I know old Iggy better than that. He's _never_ going to fall for his archenemy – look how they've been at it for centuries!"

"No," Maddie shook her head solemnly. "I think something's different – maybe time has worked some changes at last."

Alfred scoffed. "I bet you twenty bucks."

"All right," said Maddie, with something in her voice Alfred couldn't (and didn't) decipher. "But if I win you have to promise me one thing."

"Sure, anything," Alfred said carelessly.

"You have to promise me one favor. Anything I ask, but just one favor."

"No problem. I expect my twenty bucks by the end of the month."

He didn't notice the thoughtful look on Maddie's face as she turned and quietly went back to the meeting room.

* * *

"I hate you."

"Is it not obvious enough already?" said France, with an all too calm (and all too infuriating) grin in Arthur's direction. How in the world could she withstand his apparent aversion to her?

"Are you serious."

"Am I _sérieuse,_ you ask? Why, was I not before?"

"No," said Arthur, gritting his teeth, which did not help matters much at the moment as he was trying to drink his tea at the same time. "No, of _course_ you were serious – serious about _pranking_ someone who has absolutely no time and patience for what you are doing. And I ask you why. Why. Are. You. Doing. This –"

"Now, now, Angleterre. We must not get too excited – don't break your teacup, now." Arthur glared murderously at her, but somehow it glanced off her completely calm and cool demeanor. "And did I really 'prank' you, as you so casually say? What _have_ I done except give you some roses, hitch a ride, and tend to you when you were completely unfit to go to the meeting? Hmm?" Of course she had to lean closer to emphasize her point – which was completely unnecessary.

Another thing that was completely unnecessary was

 _France was right._

Goddamn it.

That wily little…never mind.

"Well," she continued, almost as if she were speaking to herself, "I suppose I _did_ have a reason for that, even if it wasn't a prank. And I suppose you would want to know, too."

Oh yes! Oh yes yes _yes_! Here it was! France was going to spill the beans at last!

And why exactly did Arthur want to know?

Well, of course it wasn't because he was interested in France and wanted to find out if she was interested in him or not. Oh no sir.

 _Nope._ All he wanted to know was how to successfully get her away from him once and for all, ending once and for all those stupid conflicts from thousands of years earlier. Yes. Arthur was _tired_ of all this, yes he was admitting it, he wanted an end to all this enmity and strife and horribleness…just everything. It was too much to wish for friendship at this point – he wasn't sure he even wanted to be friends with France. Just separation would do him a world of good.

France was observing him closely, with an expression that did nothing to ease Arthur's discomfort in the situation. Hopefully he hadn't missed out on anything she might have said.

"…Were you going to say something?"

"I suppose," said France nonchalantly, her gaze flicking away from him. "I _was_ going to answer your most heartfelt question from before but…"

"What!? You'd better keep your word now that it's out, France, or –"

"A bargain."

"…What."

"A bargain," France repeated – oh, the cunning and deceit of it all! "I answer your question, you answer mine."

…Okay, that didn't sound too bad then. Arthur just needed to know one thing…

"What do you want to know?"

"Ah, well, that…it may be rather _complicated_ to explain…" France looked to be deep in thought, with no indication of replying anytime soon. And the longer the minutes dragged on, the surer Arthur was that what France wanted was something highly unpleasant and horrible and which Arthur wouldn't want to be concerned with anyway.

Yes – that had to be it. Anything related to France was bound to be unpleasant.

"What do you hate about me so much?"

For a moment Arthur was so shocked he could barely raise an eyebrow in response. Then he finally recovered himself, just before his tea could take a detour down his airway.

Was she…was she _serious…_

"Is that seriously all you want to know?" he spluttered incredulously.

France shrugged, her face unreadable, and stirred her cup of coffee. "I phrased my question; it's your job to make sense of it."

"Okay. Okay…" Wow. France really was giving him a break. A chance to list all her flaws – _sweet_. Arthur was definitely going to enjoy this.

* * *

Is it too obvious that I like fem!France? It is. I need to make myself update!

Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

This was so fun to write! Here's the next chapter~

* * *

 _ **Day** **Two**_

"There is absolutely no way in hell this can be happening."

"Now, now, mon cher Angleterre," France remonstrated. "In the presence of females, a gentleman does not use curse words."

Much as Arthur wished to, France was - sadly and unfortunately - _right. Damn it,_ he thought to himself.

"All right then, I shall ask you _politely,"_ Arthur grated out while France smirked in his face, "I am asking you _politely_ why in the world we have ended up in – in front of a _library!?"_ Ordinary, good English citizens – his own children, for crying out loud! – were passing by, giving them strange glances. Oh God, the embarrassment, the humiliation – did no one even remember him anymore? Did no one even value his memory enough to save him from the clutches of the venomous Frog Princess currently dragging him away to his death -!

France actually looked…s _urprised._

"Pardonnez-moi, but I most certainly did not bring you anywhere of the sort. You, with your whining and yelling and carrying on about what a monster I was (like the baby you are), simply decided to stop here by yourself."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest – with full curse-word power this time – but he was faced with France's superior smirk. And so, as he had come to realize, the battle was lost – yet again – without his ever taking a step. Oh, woe.

France…France was…France was _right._ (Oh, how it hurt to think that! As though hellfire was burning up in his lungs and threatening to consume his whole body because no way in hell could France ever be right but oh, the sadness and the misery because she really was this time.)

Being a gentleman, the only weapons of retaliation he had were his eyes. Which he used to direct the most scathing, murderous glare possible at France before…yes, before stomping up the steps into the library.

After all, he had no other choice. And maybe, if luck was on his side, France would not be much of a reader and would instead wait for him outside the building…thereby offering Arthur several good chances to escape out of a secret doorway or underground tunnel or something ingenious along those lines.

He took a look behind him just to confirm his good luck, and his heart instantly fell to the ground.

Of course he wouldn't have luck – not luck of any sort – why in hell had he assumed he would have good luck – he definitely wasn't someone _meant_ to be blessed by Providence, oh no no no, because he was just too awesome like that and could totally live without it! Exactly!

…France was following him. And (Arthur was ashamed to admit to himself) he chickened out and ran inside as fast as his legs could take him. Though stopping, of course, before one of those ridiculously puffed-up old librarians – why were they always cranky old ladies? – could reprimand him for causing a disturbance uninvolved with him in any way.

Ahh, the good thing about these British libraries (he gave himself a mental pat on the back for that) – dark! Dark everywhere except in the reading rooms! Hmm, where should he hide amid all these fine places designed especially to disguise a (handsome and gallant) young man running desperately from – no, not from the one he _loved,_ what stupidity was that, then he'd be running _towards_ her but no, he was running _from_ the Frog Princess get it right – anyway, weren't those some fabulous hiding places!? That flagpole, complete with British flag (oh, the swell of pride in his heart as he looked upon _that_ emblem of his country!) seemed to beckon him over, waiting to wrap him in its soft cotton folds. Arthur looked at it forlornly, wishing he could do so but there was absolutely no way for him to become as skinny as a flagpole so that was a no-no.

And ARGH why was he dallying!? For all he knew France could be at the informational desk, calling up an entire horde of security to arrest him for being an illegal visitor of the library at this very moment. Oh, the agony of it all!

Well, being alone here wouldn't work for long. If he couldn't melt into the shadows (or melt into the ground like maple syrup) in – oh, about 0.0015 second, then he was done for. The better bet (of _course_ he'd thought of all this before, he'd had the whole plan laid out in his head since the beginning of the day, oh yes, what _was_ his stupid mind going on about) was to go _into the reading rooms_ and mingle among the library's patrons, looking exactly like one of them (see, it paid to be snappily dressed sometimes – oftentimes – _all the time_ ). And then, of course, he would read – maybe a book written by one of his past children, like _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde – wait, he'd never liked Wilde anyway, the sarcastic, uptight little git – but no matter, he could choose as he liked. The first thing, of course, was to be _among_ the books and the people instead of among the shadows, which were beginning to lose their value as a potential hiding place.

Still no sign of France as he stepped into the nearest room. So far so good. Just in case, though, just in case she happened to be there (in the same room out of a thousand, no sir) and happened to be looking for books nearby, Arthur grabbed a random book (no, he was _not_ lost and unable to find his way among the shelves) and found a nice deserted table in the corner to sit at. Oh, joy! There was even a pile of books there already! A veritable little fortress right before his eyes, the perfect defense against any possible unwanted assaults!

He sat behind it.

There. His plan was solidified, foolproof. No way in hell could France find him _here_.

He looked at the cover of the small book currently clutched in his hand and promptly gagged.

 _The Language of Love_

Oh god. Oh _god_. He was going to _die._ Life was so unfair – life was spiting him, yes, that was it! Oh, what _had_ he done to ask for this – he'd only tried cursing several significant people in his life, that was it, he hadn't done anything else, so why was he being punished so badly –

"Are you enjoying your book on love, mon cher Angleterre?" sounded a _very familiar voice, very near_ to him. "I daresay that's one (of countless) things in your life you have yet to become well versed in."

At the moment, the one thing Arthur wished for was to die a peaceful death so that France could leave him alone forever. Because he had absolutely no other way to get rid of the evil spell or spirit or whatever that was drawing France and France-related elements to him from every which way.

Needless to say he didn't get his wish.

* * *

England looked…oh, so _misérable!_ Francine could not hold back a smirk at this. Why, he was even holding a book written by one of her own children! A book (she had to admit) that was quite close to her heart – after all, it _was_ French. (Not that she'd had to use it anytime recently – or ever before, for that matter. She didn't plan on it anytime soon, either.) Ah, and that furious blush on his face as he realized just _what_ he'd been planning to read – oh, that was just much too… _way_ too…

…Adorable.

Wait. Wait. _Waaaait._ _ATTENDS! Ce n'est pas vrai_ – that was _not_ true. She would have to take that back. Immediately, if possible!

And, at the moment England was giving her a deathly glare out of all earthly proportion. How interesting. He'd just spared her the need to do so herself.

"Are you unhappy, Angleterre?" she asked sweetly, leaning closer to him from across the table and watching him sit back quickly, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. Hmm…it seemed that book on love _had_ opened his eyes to the world, after all! Hopefully he was now less of an idiot than before, though.

He wasn't speaking, so Francine decided to take up the conversation – or what was left of it. "I was waiting here for you for quite a while, Angleterre – what took you so long? I hope you didn't fall down a sewer or something similar, judging by the mess your hair is in? Oh wait, it's always like that, isn't it –" There. She'd made up for that treacherous thought from earlier – and _quelle r_ _é_ _compense!_ – England was opening his mouth to – to _reply!_ Oh, joy!

"…Shut up, Frog Princess." Oh. Well, _that_ was disappointing. Still, he was reacting – oh yes, reacting _negatively_ to her! Thank goodness – or this whole thing would become boring, and quickly.

…What was he reading now? That book on love? If he was that would be highly disturbing, to say the least. Not to mention _very_ uncharacteristic of him – England being foolish as he was.

She took down several books from the pile to see properly. But of course not – England had tossed that aside and was now flipping through a ridiculously thick book bearing a suspicious resemblance to…

"You read _encyclopedias?"_ she interrupted incredulously, only just noticing that England was actually _reading_ and might need some peace and quiet and was in fact giving quite a bit of attention to a page labeled in bold with the word **France**.

… _Très,_ très _intéressant._

Naturally he slammed the book shut like it was a reflex action, looked up and glared at her (like it was a reflex action).

"I don't suppose you'd like to share what you were reading?" Francine asked innocently, although to be fair she _was_ rather interested in what England might have to say.

He didn't say anything, so Francine began to prod. "Why the sudden interest in France?" Ha, his face was turning red again! "And for that matter, why _have_ you begun to read – when did you begin to read – I've never seen you read before! And why would you need to consult an encyclopedia, when all you ever need to know about France is situated in the glorious personage currently sitting across from you – _moi?"_

"Um, okay, _sure._ " _Une surprise –_ Iggy was actually talking to her!

"If you could just kindly tell me the countercurse to whatever _evil, wicked_ spell you've cast on me that allows you to track me down wherever I am. And just to let you know, Alfred's officially out of this – I've apologized, you can ask him – so if you would just kindly _leave me alone_ that would be quite _welcome_ indeed," England ground out, still red-faced, and, _mon Dieu,_ he seemed to be checking his use of profanities _quite well!_ Which meant he was actually taking Francine's words to heart! (Or otherwise trying to keep up the miserable appearance of a gentleman in the face of his own children…but that was highly unlikely, in Francine's opinion.)

She was unable to suppress a smile, and watched gleefully as it sparked the opposite reaction in England.

"Hmm…we'll have to see about that, won't we?" she said enigmatically.

Judging by the expression on England's face, he seemed none too happy to be receiving one mystery in place of another, but Francine was going to leave it at that and no amount of yelling or prodding or pleading or coaxing was going to induce her to elaborate. (Not that England was capable of any of these except the first.)

It was time to leave. This whole thing had turned out to be a fiasco, a catastrophe – she'd failed again in her attempt, yet again.

Yes, they'd known each other for centuries – as rivals, of course. And, sadly, rivals they were still.

That meant that, knowing England, he would retaliate sooner or later.

She might as well get home, get some thought on the matter, and prepare to face off with England another day.

Because, as Francine had only recently discovered, dealing with England _was_ challenging. In more ways than one.

* * *

The first thing Arthur did upon getting home was drop like a stone onto the nearest couch and yell out his woes into one of his ancient embroidered cushions (oh, how he did love those cushions!). Life was just unfair. Life was just bloody _unreal._

But of course, at work and stuff he would always have to put on a false face, be the very picture of perfect happiness and professionality, and act as though he was simply having a normal day and not one in which he was being tormented by France every which way. No sir.

…Life was peachy. _Just_ peachy.

"And I didn't mean the fruit," Arthur shouted into the cushion as none other than a great heavy peach dropped onto his head (ouch) and bounced off, courtesy of Flying Mint Bunny.

"Wow, you really _are_ in a good mood today, aren't you now, Iggy," she said sarcastically, and watched calmly as Arthur sat up, picked up the peach, and sent it flying into a nearby fruit bowl. Sadly, though, no one was around to appreciate it. Flying Mint Bunny didn't count, of course – she never appreciated _anything_ Arthur did, simply because she never needed him to do anything for her other than stay alive and not bother her during her naptime(s). Which was just fine with him.

"Exactly my point." Arthur flopped back onto the couch and closed his eyes in utter exhaustion, willing the stupid happenings from the past few days to just drain out of his mind and wash right out the doorstep. No such thing happened, of course.

" _Out_ with it already, Arthur," Flying Mint Bunny complained, holding her head with both paws. "I hate it when you're moody – it hurts _me_ too, you know. Just spill the beans, who cares if I heard it a million times already, it's probably about France as usual but we all need to unload our brains before we _explode,_ hint hint to the foolish country sitting _right_ in front of me…"

How very considerate of her. All right then. Arthur would _talk,_ if that saved both of them from potentially painful and prolonged deaths.

"Okay. _Fine."_ Arthur took a deep breath and opened his mouth, only to find that he didn't know where to begin. At _all._

 _Come on, it's only been several days! Just several days and you're unable to function already,_ what _is wrong with you England, you've had to live with France for_ centuries _and it was never like this before!_

He knew there was something different this time. He just didn't know what.

"Arthur!"

"Okay! I'm talking, I'm talking! Just don't go crazy on me till I'm done, thanks!"

* * *

An hour and forty-five minutes later – or maybe it was more – full of Arthur's rantings about France and goings-on (about France) and otherwise dissatisfaction (with life in general – and France), Flying Mint Bunny felt, migraine aside, that she was quite convinced about a number of things. A number of quite _glaringly obvious_ facts.

Number one: Arthur really, really, _really_ (and I mean really) hated France. No biggie there. Anyone lucky enough to observe them from the beginning of time would have been reasonably convinced of that one. And Flying Mint Bunny was one of those lucky beings, enough said.

Number two: Arthur really, really, _really_ (and I mean really) also hated life in general. Judging from his complaints about having to host the world conference this time, and how disastrous it was having to be horribly late the first day (thanks to France), and how he still had a bunch of things to attend to after the conference (which meant, in Arthurian terms, working his head off for a couple more days), and which would probably kill him before the day was over. (Hmm…things didn't quite add up there…but then again Arthur _had_ been drinking a lot of caffeinated tea lately.) To wrap up the life question, Arthur _had no life._ (Enough said on that one too.)

Number three: Arthur was horrible at pranks. Just leave it to him to make it totally obvious and have both Alfred and France hot on his tail…though Alfred had dropped the topic and had apparently forgiven Arthur, which…might be a good thing or not. France was still there though.

Number four: Arthur was _quite_ a bit out of shape. Judging by his inability to get up those stairs within ten minutes – why, Flying Mint Bunny could even do it while _flying!_ (Gasp!) Why couldn't he?

Number five: Arthur should have read that love book. (And told Flying Mint Bunny about it.)

Number six: Arthur should not have been in such a bad mood in the first place.

"What a great help you're being, Flying Mint Bunny, I've never been so enlightened before in my life," sighed Arthur as he listened to the abridged synopsis of his no-good life (Flying Mint Bunny style). He was actually reacting better to it than she'd expected, too! What an improvement!

Number seven: Arthur really needed to work on his sarcasm.

 _"_ _Thanks."_

Number eight: Arthur really, really needed a date.

Yay, a rhyme!

"Wait, _WHAT!?"_

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't hear," Flying Mint Bunny said gleefully, watching his expression turn from shock to one of pure, unadulterated horror.

"I – what in the _world_ are you talking about!? I can't – I can't get a _date,_ that's out of the question right now!" Arthur's face was turning a rather nice shade of pink at the thought. (Shh…don't tell him Flying Mint Bunny said that.) "I'm _England,_ for God's sake, I have a host of duties to attend to, I'm responsible for the world's equilibrium in America's stead – I can't just –"

Hmm…something was different here. Something that Flying Mint Bunny couldn't quite put her paw on…there was something, _something_ crucially missing from the equation…

"But of _course_ you have to, Arthur," she said nonchalantly. "Now that I think about it, I haven't seen you with a girl since…oh, the beginning of time?"

"Shut up."

"Forever alone~!" she sang triumphantly.

"Shut _up!"_

"Hahahahaha oh my Jesus your face is –" A lightbulb suddenly went off in her head, and she straightened up suddenly, a diabolical look in her eyes.

"What is it now, Flying Mint Bunny?" Arthur grumbled. "Not another one of your notoriously foolproof plans?"

Oh, but even _he_ would have to admit this was a _GREAT_ idea!

"Look, you absolutely _have_ to get a date, Arthur." Cue roll of eyes and groan of "Here we go again." She ignored his idiocy and continued. "I mean, how else can you show up France if you don't?"

Arthur was silent then. And that was when Flying Mint Bunny realized it. Really, she was surprised it'd taken _this_ long – after all, he and France _had_ known each other for centuries –

"Ohoho OH GOODNESS JESUS GRACIOUS – you stopped cursing! At last! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"W-what –" Arthur was blushing again, this time in outrage. "I – I just felt like –"

"HAHA YOU'VE BEEN SKIMPING OH HAHA FRANCE IS GROWING ON YOU NOW FINALLY~!"

She was reasonably sure the deepening of Arthur's blush _now_ had absolutely nothing to do with his current level of profanities, but rather what – or who – had caused it in the first place…

…France.

Oh, she was dying of laughter. England – England and… _France!_ Oh, this was just too outrageously funny!

And, if the events of the past few days were of any indication…

…It might also be outrageously likely.

Very much so, in fact.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the reviews, favs, and follows! Thank my beta too!

* * *

 _ **Day Three**_

Francine Bonnefoy did not remember ever having been so tired before in her life. And yet, she still had a world conference to hasten to.

…Life was just a bit too demanding sometimes. It was already demanding enough without a certain British –

She pushed all _those_ thoughts out of her mind. Never mind that she was completely unprepared to deal with England today, or anyone else for that matter – all that mattered was getting to the building in time and getting herself in that seat just for the sake of being present. Just for the sake of being present, mind, because the world conferences were pretty much useless and it was just that no one dared to admit it.

Purse in one hand and steaming cup of coffee in another (oh, that faithful cappuccino – even though she'd never quite gotten along with the Italy brothers), Francine made her way to her little blue rented Citroen in the garage, taking in the fresh morning air, which was tinged with the now slight but still utterly wonderful aroma of roses. Oh, how she loved roses.

Not that anyone had ever given her any before – but that, of course, was beside the point.

She unlocked the car door and whipped inside to start it. Or tried to.

Because the convertible, after giving a small wake-up wheeze, rumbled slightly as though to start…

…And immediately sputtered to a stop.

 _This is what you get for pranking England that morning in the car,_ a small voice in her head said unpleasantly. _This is what you get for being mean to him all those years…_

She crushed it quickly. It wasn't totally her fault – England had had his fair share in their rivalry as well!

And there was no time to waste thinking about it now.

It _was,_ however, about time to smash the conference on foot – the French way.

* * *

Arthur sat uneasily in his seat at the head of the table, surrounded by most of the other countries, who were talking merrily (note the sarcasm) amongst themselves. Arthur himself, however, did not have much to contribute in the way of conversation – first, thoughts of the past few days (along with the disastrous conversation with Flying Mint Bunny) were still ricocheting around in his mind like radioactive fallout, destroying most of his gray matter; second, the pile of files and charts currently clutched in his hands suddenly looked as though it needed to be reorganized. (Even though he'd meticulously combed through it about a thousand times the night before – Arthur never was one to give up responsibility when it was forced on him.)

He was also trying very excruciatingly hard not to let his eyes stray to a certain seat – yes, that one comfy-looking chair right between Germany and Russia, right across from Spain and Romano and diagonally from Prussia; that seat strategically placed so that it was just the perfect distance from the front, with a perfect view. The seat which was normally occupied by a certain talkative and (as of late) _extremely_ bothersome country, in Arthur's opinion…

…But as of now, that seat was _empty._ And Arthur could no longer deny it – he was worried.

Yes, worried! Yes, rightfully worried as only a _fellow country_ might be, as only the host of the conference might be, when faced with a situation in which one or more attendees to the world meeting were missing. When said attendees most definitely _had_ to be alive and present there or they might miss out on some supposedly life-or-death news and issues portentous to their country or to the world at large. (Supposedly.)

He wasn't even quite sure what his mind was babbling on about.

But _noooo –_ he was _not_ worried about France in any other way save – save that!

 _Yes, just_ try _to convince yourself,_ some voice in his mind sneered. Oh, the torture –

"How's things _goin,'_ matey!?"

America had dropped by and was doing a perfectly horrible imitation of pirate slang (not that Arthur would know) – but no matter. Arthur found he was actually glad to have someone to talk to after all this time. Jesus – he'd spent nearly thirty minutes kept to himself, and _silent_ , too! It was world record standard already!

"Hey Iggy." It was Canada, who'd materialized (seemingly out of nowhere) to stand next to America. "You seem rather…worried today." Then her eyes lit up (never a good sign when it was Canada) and she grinned mischievously. "Say, you wouldn't have been feeling a bit… _lonely_ …with some country or other missing? Like… _France,_ for instance?"

Arthur choked.

Really, really choked.

Whoops – there went his tea. Should've known Canada would say such a thing – should've known better not to sip from his teacup while she was delivering her little _speech –_

"Oh my god, Arthur, are you all right?" Canada was patting his back frantically, apologizing profusely all the while, and America was laughing like a dork somewhere off to the left. Typical.

"I – I'm all right," he managed to wheeze out, waving Canada off and accepting a bunch of paper towels to clean up with (wait, were those McDonald's signs embossed on the corners?). Oh thank goodness his files had been spared. Otherwise he would _not_ spare America and Canada.

Those two were just…two of a kind. Really. They were utterly perfect together, only no one bothered to realize it.

Thank goodness Canada hadn't pressed for any answers to her (unanswered) questions, not that Arthur would've answered her anyway. And checking the time – hmm, it was now _ten thirty-four,_ about _fifteen_ minutes past the starting time and _a certain country_ still hadn't arrived…

He'd given everyone a little leeway before, but France or not he had to start the meeting.

Arthur sighed and stood up to begin his announcement (thank the heavens it was the final one he'd have to make for another _year –_ whoop), but not before a commotion sounded at the door and a very beautiful brown-haired girl rushed in, apologizing profusely because she was obviously very late for something.

It took him several seconds to realize that was…

France.

It took him several seconds more to actually choke mentally and realize he'd thought she was beautiful.

* * *

The little gold crown she usually wore was gone today (it was in her hand), and her hair, normally in an elaborate little updo, was today a messy chignon, with several curls having fallen out and framing her face nicely. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from all the running she must have done earlier, her violet eyes more lively than he'd ever seen them, and she seemed just a bit out of breath as she made her way toward the conference table and took her customary seat in the middle, left for her by Germany and Russia.

Arthur stared.

And stared.

It seemed he wasn't the only one who'd noticed, either. Germany had tensed awkwardly upon seeing France, and hastily moved aside, pulling out her chair for her. Russia, meanwhile, was regarding her with open admiration, as though he'd just found a sunflower blooming in the midst of winter. Even Spain was observing France from across the table, with a bit more than just passing interest (although the same could not be said for Romano).

An uncomfortable feeling made itself known in Arthur's chest as he took in all this from the front of the table, unnoticed by everyone else.

Then France met his eyes, smirked, and – with those lively violet eyes of hers – winked.

* * *

 _Quelle surprise…_

Angleterre seemed rather _flustered_ today, hmm…was it because of Francine's appearance? Why, it had barely even changed!

And yet she couldn't deny that every single male country in her immediate vicinity was regarding her with some kind of renewed interest. Anyone would've thought they'd never seen a girl before, judging from the way they were looking at her now.

Perhaps it had been her perfume...

Yes, being a female country had its perks. It had many perks. But to Francine, this was not one of them. At least, not today.

Usually she yearned for the spotlight, which, though it looked easy to attain, actually required work and thought on her part; usually she coveted these looks of admiration and attraction. But not today, because her goal for the day had not yet been accomplished - England was still in a good mood. And taking a casual glance around, she was just barely able to catch a heated glare from Belarus and some other lesser-known member of the female countryhood. The situation was not looking pretty.

Anyway. The only wise course of action here was to turn _away_ from Russia – very slowly, make sure to avoid those violet eyes – and face the front as though nothing had happened whatsoever. (Wouldn't want to be violently murdered some peaceful night by a certain knife-toting young lady…no sir) And the front, of course, was where Angleterre was standing.

The moment their eyes met she knew he'd noticed, too. And simply because it was too highly amusing and also simply because the situation had gotten so bizarre in a mere matter of seconds – she winked at him.

Oh, the reaction was priceless! England's eyes widened, and he whipped back around with lightning speed. France could no longer see his face, but his ears were turning red – how utterly delightful! And she'd been so convinced she wouldn't be able to affect Angleterre in any way, either!

But there was a meeting, and it had to start. And sitting through a tense forty-five minutes of useless talk and news and barely suppressed arguments suddenly seemed preferable to answering the heartfelt, probing questions that were being whispered in her ear from Russia's direction.

* * *

Russia was trying to talk to France.

Russia was actually whispering things in her ear.

Russia was getting mighty _close_ to France…

 _Damn it!_

Arthur had just mentally broken his two-day-long record low of curse words, but he barely noticed. What he _was_ noticing was that the uncomfortable feeling seemed to have gotten worse. And there was no way to get rid of it.

 _No, I am_ not _jealous!_

He was _not_ jealous, for crying out loud. Why would he be, anyway? His wish had just been granted! Yes, his heartfelt wish from yesterday that France would leave him alone once and for all – oh yes, hadn't it come true? Gloriously, completely true? Russia was paying attention to France now, and even if she didn't reciprocate his (quite apparent) affections, there were still plenty of other countries quite interested in her and of _course_ (being France) she would inevitably choose one of them and thus, stop bothering Arthur of her own accord! Why, this was a cause for celebration!

…Except Arthur wasn't quite feeling it. For some reason.

" _Now that I think about it, I haven't seen you with a girl since…oh, the beginning of time?"_

Ouch.

Singledom was great, what was everyone all talking about!? There simply was no way Arthur was going to get a…get a…okay, get a _date,_ God. Or – horror of horrors – even a _girlfriend._ Nope. He valued his singleness too much.

And – by Jove – he wasn't going to let that pretty girl over there – yes, France was pretty, okay, he'd admitted it now – he wasn't going to let her sway his views on his own love life (or lack thereof). No way in hell.

…So of course that was why Arthur decided, upon the end of the meeting, to stand up, make his way over to France, and (in Arthurian terms) save her from that hulking creepy monster of creepiness officially known to the world as Russia. Being the noble and gallant gentleman he was, Arthur felt it was his _duty._

In real terms, he was going to ask her out.

Or he tried to, at least.

* * *

Thank goodness it was over now – Francine could now escape from Russia and Spain and whoever else might be checking her out _without_ her permission – all one had to do was excuse oneself quickly if the situation called for it (and it did now), claiming there were urgent things to attend to at home. At least, that _was_ her plan, until she saw Angleterre getting up (all right, she _had_ been keeping a close eye on him, just out of _spiteful_ curiosity, mind) and – was he coming over to her?

There was _something_ in his face – a sort of steely resolve – that suggested he was going to say or do something highly significant. And, as before, he _was_ making his way over and – Francine realized her heart had – oh mon _Dieu,_ her heart had sped up. Just a bit. Did that mean – oh no, no, things _couldn't_ have changed, he was probably just going to reprimand her for being late or something, yes, that must be it –

"Ah, _Frantsiya,_ dorogaya moya," said Russia rather creepily as he appeared directly in front of her, taking both her hands in his. "For a moment I could not find you – I thought you were avoiding me at first – but here you are, so it does not matter…Would you like to accompany me to the local café now? Hmm?"

"Uh…" Francine was, for the first time, at a loss for words and at a total loss as to how to extricate herself from Russia's grasp without being too offendingly obvious. And where _was_ England at a time like this!?

Oh, dear.

Now if only she'd been a bit less annoyingly cruel towards him…but it was too late now.

Upon being intercepted by Russia, England had stopped short for just a second, still over ten feet away, his expression frighteningly inscrutable. And as Francine mentally screamed out to him (not that she needed any help, no, just a bit of companionable _assistance_ , mind) he straightened up and veered sharply off at three o'clock, directing his steps towards…oh, it couldn't be…

* * *

"Belgium," Arthur said as nonchalantly as he could, trying not to let any harsh feelings seep out through his voice like poison as the other country regarded him suspiciously. Not harsh feelings at _Belgium,_ no, then in that sense they might not be harsh at all. Speaking of his feelings…Arthur's feelings were in somewhat of a tumble right now – gone right down the drain, they had.

And swirled around and around till they reached a percolator and got hacked into splintery debris that was still bouncing around inside his head. How very comfortable.

Okay.

Bottom line was, there was absolutely _no way_ he could be jealous of France and no, he was not experiencing any adverse side effects upon finding his efforts brutally cut off by a Russian wall of doom. Not at _all._

Blame it on lack of coffee. Or, better yet, lack of tea (no thanks to Canada, of course). He was simply suffering from a lack of sleep and overdose of work, considering he still had a lot to do as host country of the world meetings taking place this month. Uh huh.

So all he needed was…some rest and relaxation.

And…what better way to do so than with a _date?_ Oh yes, just as Flying Mint Bunny had suggested. Damn it she was so smart, and even better at seeing the future than Arthur was. Why, here he was, showing France up already – asking _Belgium_ out ahahaha!

It was the single most ingenious plan of his life.

"So, Belgium," he said cheerfully, hoping he didn't look like a grinning fiend, "wanna go grab a drink or something?"

Belgium gave him that _look_ that suggested she knew exactly what was going on in his mind – or it might just be the "why the hell is _England_ of all people asking me out did I forget my hair tie or something today" look.

At any rate, she did say "Sure." While regarding him interestedly all the while – the glance wasn't far from what France had received earlier from a certain bunch of male countries.

Hmm. Arthur certainly didn't seem to be lacking in attractive qualities, then. (Or otherwise he was simply indulging himself.)

* * *

So…old Iggy'd gotten himself a date, hadn't he?

 _Intéressant._

Well, two could play at _that_ game. Russia was only too happy to receive her affirmative – she had to talk with him about foreign policy anyway. Let's see how Iggy would feel about _that –_ wait, England did dislike her after all, so…

Francine tried to ignore the slight pang she felt as she watched England and Belgium leave together. Although it got slightly worse when she realized England was talking to Belgium rather companionably, and Belgium was replying cheerfully.

Nope. It was not jealousy. It was not jealousy. It was _not._ She must simply be feeling lonely because no one was talking to her – which was quite near the mark, by the way.

Russia had stopped speaking, and was now looking at her with a slightly different (though no less creepy) expression. That was when Francine realized she might just have tuned him out a bit too long, and felt a bit guilty.

"I'm sorry," she said and meant it. "Shall we be off now, then, Russia?"

"Da," he said agreeably.

Russia wasn't that bad after all, really. Not that she harbored any… _feelings_ for him or anything remotely romantic like that…but just as a person he seemed pretty decent. Probably.

Of course, anyone compared to England would seem decent. And that was quite enough said.

* * *

As it turned out, Francine hadn't been the only one keeping a close eye on the England-Belgium duo.

"Oh my gosh, did England just ask _Belgium_ out!?" Maddie, as was to be expected, was the very picture of abject misery, and Alfred laughed triumphantly in her face.

"Haha, even France is going out with Russia now!"

Maddie slumped over in her seat, her face in her hands, while Kumajiro looked at her blankly. "It – it can't be…"

"It's only been two days – dear me, have we lost already?" Maddie gave him a mock glare, and Alfred held out his hand. "All right then, where's my twenty bucks?"

"Hey, no fair!" Maddie protested. "We agreed it would be a month, remember? We were going to see if they would get together _by the end of the month!"_

"…Oh yeah. Forgot about that." Alfred looked saddened by the fact, and then perked up again almost immediately. "Hey Maddie – there's a new fast-food place just down the street – what say you to some fries and a nice hot hamburger?"

He didn't notice that Maddie had tensed somewhat at the words, her grip on Kumajiro tightening slightly.

"Uh…r-really?" She _did_ seem to be reacting rather strangely.

"Of course!"

"O-oh gosh, um, sure!" Maddie said rather excitedly, before Alfred could say anything more.

It was starting to sound awfully much like…like a _date._

Well, maybe that _was_ what it was, anyway.

* * *

"So…how is life, dorogaya moya?" Russia asked, reaching for her hand in the same moment. Francine managed to snatch her hand away just in time, giving him an "Are you serious" look in return, and Russia just laughed.

"It seems to me that you have no more wish to be here than I," he said sagely, still looking over at her from across the table. _Much less,_ Francine corrected in her head.

"Well, it depends on how you define 'wish'…" Francine was unable to keep the wistfulness from her voice.

"By all means, go on." Hmm. Russia seemed to be all ears.

"Never mind," she said hastily. Russia looked a bit disappointed.

"Keeping thoughts bottled up inside does no good."

He had a point there. Francine sighed. Well, even if it _was_ Russia, she absolutely had to talk to someone. She didn't care who it was anymore.

" _Tout le monde –_ everyone – we're all just colleagues, you know. We're all Nations – it's illustrious and grand how we run the world, but aside from that, everything's just…life. Yes, _c'est la vie_ they all say…but too many problems come with life nowadays, and too few solutions…"

So far only one of her problems had been solved. And that was the one of the world conference – that had been the last meeting of the month, thank _God._ Everyone could return to their homes and resume their lives as though nothing else had happened in between government order and government duty.

…Except herself – and a certain Englishman…Francine pushed those thoughts away before they could wreck any more havoc.

"...Je suis fatiguée, I suppose," she finished rather inconclusively, still following her own thoughts. "Things just get tiring sometimes."

There. It was out. A nice little bit of circumlocution Russia would probably admire, but it was out nevertheless. Partly. Francine was actually pleased with herself for once.

Russia was regarding her thoughtfully from across the table.

"…I agree."

If Russia could make sense of her ramblings, well then, that was something new indeed.

"You do realize I made absolutely no sense there, didn't you?" she said wryly, observing Russia as he stirred his tea.

"Nyet, you did. What you said was the truth, after all – although you were not answering any specific question, just pouring out your thoughts, am I right?"

"…I guess so." A girl wearing a white bow in her hair walked past, and Francine was suddenly reminded of something – or someone – in particular. "Hmm…Belarus won't kill me for this, will she? She did look rather murderous back at the conference this morning…"

"Nyet," Russia said again. "I will explain all to her in due time, and she will understand."

Francine breathed an audible sigh of relief, and Russia laughed again for a moment before sobering.

"I sense that there is something else on your mind," he prodded, and Francine grimaced as the already-present thoughts concerning England and Belgium swirled around in her head at dizzying speeds.

"Would you like to share your thoughts?"

"…Uh, I'll pass," she said hastily, directing her attention to her cappuccino, which was fast getting cold, and busying herself with it.

"It is _Angliya,_ is it not?"

She looked up at him then, violet eyes meeting violet eyes. How…how on earth did he just…

"…Does the answer really matter at this point?" she said quietly.

"It matters if you want it to."

True.

Russia was quite good at speaking the truth these days, she had to admit.

But the truth was something that Francine often had difficulty accepting – and when those truths concerned England, the tendency to put them off till later (i.e. never) was overpowering. _Much_ too overpowering…

"…Let's talk about politics now, shall we?"

After all, everything did come down to politics when you were a Nation. You just had to learn to forget those feelings – those human feelings.

They were simply beside the point.

That was all.

* * *

REVIEW? :)


	4. Chapter 4

Finally, another chapter! A Drop of Starlight, ily!

* * *

 ** _Day Four_**

 _12:01 a.m._

"Okay, now _that_ was just crazy," Arthur sighed as he collapsed onto his couch once more, prepared to rant to Flying Mint Bunny as usual.

"What?"

"I…went on a date with Belgium."

"WHAT!?"

"Oh, you heard me."

Flying Mint Bunny was at a loss for words. "Y-you…went on a _date_ with…with _Belgium!?"_

"Yes, now cut the crap and listen. So you see, it was all a show to…show up France, as you said. Which I did." Arthur decided not to mention the first part – he'd actually _wanted_ to go out with France. (He was still finding it rather hard to accept.) _Except_ (ha _ha_ ) a certain _Russian_ had been in the way then, so…

"Anyway, Belgium seemed happy enough, and so we went to a bar. (I know – I'm not the best at this stuff.) And _then_ guess what."

"What?" Flying Mint Bunny asked irritably.

"We ran into her former _brother,_ that's what! Netherlands! And he got all defensive and possessive (personally I think they would make a good couple – now don't go all 'Ew Arthur, you're a horrible matchmaker, can't even find your own girl') and so Belgium had to leave. And so it was me, left all alone, at the bar! How very exciting, right? So, what say you? Any comments?"

"Ew Arthur, you're a horrible matchmaker – you can't even find your own girl."

Arthur ignored her and lay down morosely. "Now leave me alone so I can die a peaceful death." It was Saturday – not a very good day to die, considering it was his first work-free day of the month, but it wasn't as though he had a choice. He never did have a choice.

Naturally, Flying Mint Bunny did not listen and sat there like a stone, watching over him. Arthur was thus forced to forego death and ended up sleeping off his hangover instead.

Never mind the fact that the name "France" was brought up more than once amidst all his tossings and turnings that night. He would never have admitted to it anyway.

* * *

 _1:25 a.m._

"H-hey, we're still on the _road,_ Alfred, get off the _road_ ~!" Maddie slurred, grinning happily at nothing in particular while trying to smack Alfred's arm and missing by a full twelve inches.

"…Are you all right, Maddie?" Alfred asked worriedly, pulling over so they wouldn't suffer any unfortunate car accidents due to the driver being slapped to death by his sister-friend with a fluffy bear in the passenger seat.

At this rate they were never going to get to Maddie's house in time.

"Maddie, answer me!"

"Yes~! See, I'm perfectly fine! I'm still alive and well and my little teddy bear remembers my name YAY!" She ignored Kumajiro's 'Who are you?' from the corner.

Her eyes were peculiarly bright and glassy and in the darkness Alfred could just discern the slight flush in her cheeks as she turned towards him, smiling.

"…You drank from that bottle of whiskey, didn't you?"

She was so…so beautiful.

"…What whiskey~?"

"You know, _that_ bottle of whiskey I always have on hand just in case Arthur or someone visits. You drank from it, didn't you?"

"I didn't see no whiskey…it was just a bottle. A nice glass bottle, like the ones I have at home. And I was thirsty!" she grumbled, leaning back in her seat for just a moment before bouncing back around to face him.

She was so cute.

"Why didn't you even say so – never mind. Why are you so careless now, Maddie? How am I supposed to take care of you?"

"Why are you so _cute_ all the time _,_ Alfred~?"

Alfred froze, his hand mid-way from touching Maddie's cheek. He stared at her.

"W-What did you just say, Maddie?"

"That you're _cute_ ~!" She turned to look at him, sounding almost completely sober, yet somehow not realizing the magnitude of what she'd just said. "You are, you know."

Alfred was at a loss for words. Did – did that mean – might Maddie just feel the same way –

"I –"

"I think I – I think I like you a lot, Alfred."

He was unable to speak.

"More than as a sister, or as a friend. Not like any of those, in fact." Blue eyes came closer and suddenly seemed larger than life. "Do – do you like me, Alfred? In that way?"

His heart pounded as he looked deep into her eyes. They were so close – oh, if he only leaned a few inches closer…

"Please, answer me – I've wanted to know since the beginning of time."

"I – I _do._ "

And then Maddie had closed the distance between them and was kissing him gently, her lips so utterly soft and warm against his that Alfred couldn't _resist_ , for the life of him. Even though he was thinking, _She's drunk! She's drunk!_ He couldn't, oh, he just couldn't – this was – he couldn't –

He kissed her right back.

* * *

 _2:46 a.m._

"Hello?" Arthur slurred sleepily into his cell phone, not even bothering to sit up in bed. Why in the world would anyone call him in the dead of night – oh wait, was it morning already? Morning, oh morning – why so _early_ in the morn –

"Kirkland!" an urgent-sounding voice shouted on the other end. "Get up and get your old bod over here right now – it's an emergency!"

"It's a _what!?"_ screeched Arthur as he jumped out of bed like a ninja (sod it, if only someone had been there to admire it), turned the phone on speaker (off-the-charts loud), and raced through the house (hangover notwithstanding) trying to get ready and out to the car in 0.62 second. It wasn't that bad really. Even Flying Mint Bunny would've said so.

"Oh – wait, Kirkland, don't hang up yet!" the voice shouted, just as Arthur's finger hovered over the END CALL button. Whew, that was a close one.

"Sorry, boss."

"No matter, we just got an alert. There's a French ambassador who's supposed to go with you too, but we can't contact her – blast those people who lost the number – could you just do that really quickly? And bring her over too, if you can?"

"Wait, wait, _whaaat!?"_ Oh, it had better not be France, it had better not be France…

His headache seemed to have worsened.

"What's her name?" he asked hesitantly, dreading the answer.

It had better not be…

"Ah…I believe it is…"

Oh no, oh no, please God, Arthur prayed. Please spare me from the apocalypse, please…I don't want to die three times in one week, once is enough – actually, _living_ is quite enough as it is…

"…a certain young lady by the name of – oh wait, you might just know her, but here's her name anyway…"

No, it could not be, it absolutely could not be…

"…Miss Francine Bonnefoy."

"…What."

His life was over. Oh yes, it was officially over! Since when did he have such bad luck as to be stuck with _France_ of all people…and just when he'd been settling back into his normal (France-free) work routine too…oh dear. His mind disintegrated into a pile of molten lava debris on the spot.

"…Kirkland!" his boss shouted. "You'd better still be alive and breathing over there, or I'm going to kill you –"

"No need," said Arthur woodenly. "I'm already dead. So I have to contact her, pick her up, and get her over here – all before she leaves for home, which she might just be doing at the moment."

"Exactly."

"And…what's my time limit?"

"You have about ten minutes."

"I'm on it."

* * *

 _2:48 a.m._

Francine stared gloomily out the window at nothing in particular. Light was great. Darkness was not.

For one thing, one could not _see_ when it was _nuit_ – night, that is. Apparently, car mechanics could not either – that must've been why they'd postponed her appointment to eight in the morning, instead of eight at night.

That meant twelve hours of waiting in a dinky hotel, instead of one hour flying home and eleven-plus hours of time to work, or sleep, or anything else in particular.

And twelve hours of waiting meant she would be twelve more hours stuck in this city, which was the city of London, which was the capital of a certain country called England…

For the thousandth time that day she found her thoughts drifting in his direction, despite her useless attempts to combat it. For the thousandth time that day she found herself wondering whether she had really been jealous of England. And for the thousandth time that day she wondered whether England had actually been jealous of her.

What a very productive line of thought.

Partly thanks to Russia, who'd brought it up in the first place. But she couldn't really blame him since he had seemed to be genuinely worried about her.

If only someone else in particular could've done the same…

Francine sighed and reached for a rose from a vase sitting on the windowsill. Roses were so beautiful. Yes, they had thorns, but that was simply a natural defense mechanism (if one chose to phrase it in that way). Self-defense meant nothing could get through and cause harm. And that was _good._ Smart. Really effective, too.

Oh, if only she could say the same about herself. She was no rose – no, she might simply appear to be one, but in reality she was not.

That was the horrible truth. Every single word of it.

And Francine just had to accept it.

It wasn't that hard…right?

Wrong.

* * *

 _2:50 a.m._

 _All right,_ thought Arthur. _All_ right. _You're here, it's her room. (And you didn't get arrested for looking like a stalker while you were searching for it.) Okay._

Okay.

It was all good. Maybe she was still here – yes of _course_ she was still here, unless there had been something wrong with the hotel receptionist or something. Yes. She was here. All he had to do was raise his hand and knock. Raise his hand…and knock. It wasn't that bad – no, it really wasn't.

 _Come on already Arthur. You've wasted two minutes just standing here doing absolutely nothing._

It wasn't that bad. And it had nothing to do with their romping off on jealousy-filled dates after the meeting – no sir, it was _government business_ now and it was simply Arthur's _duty_ to pick her up…he was _not_ supposed to overreact dear God!

 _Okaaay._

Just five minutes away from getting fired, Arthur decided he had to do something. Anything.

So, very quickly, he knocked – at the same time simultaneously taking a step back. It wouldn't do to be bombarded with rose bombs or books or suitcases or whatever weapons of mass destruction France kept in that hotel room of hers…

…Okay, now that was just plain mean of him.

Arthur ceased to think immediately when a faint female voice sounded from somewhere behind the door, a reasonable distance away from the sound of it.

"Who's there?"

It was most definitely France, though her voice sounded a bit soft and breathy, as though he'd startled her from her sleep or just plain scared her. Arthur decided not to dwell on why exactly it was sending shivers down his spine, and also decided to speak up before any of their jobs got suspended indefinitely.

"Open up, Frog Princess, you already know who this is," he said, irritable because he'd only had two hours of sleep and also because he wasn't letting on that she'd affected him in any way in the audible category whatsoever.

"… _Angleterre?_ "

"Yes, it's me, and yes, you'd better hurry and open up, France, because this is _urgent,_ it's a government emergency and I was called to pick you up ( _forced,_ mind) – we have to get there in less than three minutes now or we will certainly be fired from our positions so – _let me in already, France, you heard me!"_

"D'accord, d'ac _cord_! _Mon Dieu…_ " France opened the door, and Arthur tried to suppress the slight fluttery feeling in his chest as he looked at her. He didn't notice that she had also tensed slightly upon actually seeing him standing there.

"2:50 a.m., and you pop up in front of my door without even a phone call?" she asked, sounding rather annoyed. Ouch.

"Sorry I…I've lost your phone number, you know…"

"No matter now," France said, waving it off. "All right, just wait – I need to grab a few things," and she ran inside very quickly, coming back in less than a second with purse, coat, scarf, and a small carpetbag which probably contained the rest of her worldly belongings. How - how had she managed to move so fast?

"Can you drive?" asked Arthur. "I mean – sorry –" France looked offended. Mental slap time – blame it on lack of sleep. "I mean, do you have a car?"

"Yes, but would you mind if I hitchhiked with you? My car isn't functioning quite that well, I'm afraid."

"Oh – uh, no problem," Arthur said quickly, (ignoring whatever _feelings_ may have risen up at that question) and they made their way to his car in the dead of night.

Their mission – whatever it was – had begun in earnest. At last.

Now Arthur would just have to figure out how to survive when France was involved.

* * *

 _2:52 a.m._

Francine knew there was something wrong when England stumbled on the way to the car.

"Angleterre," she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm and steady him. "Are you all right?"

For a moment she was met with a pair of breathtakingly green eyes. Then England averted his gaze and mumbled something Francine didn't quite catch, "…drink."

"You were _drinking?_ " England looked a bit guilty – actually, quite guilty. "And you were _driving_ while drunk?"

Another (guilty) affirmative.

"D'accord, that does it. Into the passenger seat you go." Despite his protests she was able to push him inside said seat (ignoring the fact that they had to end up rather close to do that) and got into the driver's seat herself.

…England really did look tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and he seemed rather…unsettled. Francine supposed she could say the same about herself.

"Let me guess…you didn't get much sleep either."

"I suppose not," he muttered. They were straying dangerously close to the disastrous dating fiasco from the morning before – better avoid that.

"Hmm…I think I may have something for that."

England looked quizzically at the canteen of coffee she was holding out to him, as if he'd never seen such a thing before. (Well, that was understandable, considering Francine had never done anything of this sort since, well, ever.)

"Coffee," she said exasperatedly after a few seconds of nothing. "Not poison. _Coffee._ And I didn't drink out of it or anything, if that's what you're asking."

England looked at her for a second, his expression inscrutable, and then finally said, "…Thanks."

And took it.

"No problem. You'll find it's way better than British coffee" – snicker in England's direction and glare from said country, although he still seemed much too tired to glare properly – "and I think it'll last you the whole way there – by the way, where _are_ we supposed to go?"

About a minute later, armed with an address book and GPS (not that she'd really need it) Francine was ready.

"Ah, the splendid feeling of responsibility that comes with sitting in the driver's seat," she sighed happily. And laughed at England (because she could). "Okay, here we go then."

"...So we're supposed to go to America."

"Great!"

Arthur still had no idea how France could sound so preppy one moment and the next, utterly...never mind. He was still experiencing a bit of a high from the coffee she'd given him - who would've known it might be so effective?

Also French coffee...actually _was_ pretty good.

(Just don't tell her that.)

* * *

 _8:19 a.m._

"Francine…are you still awake?"

Gosh, using their human names felt so weird.

It was as though…as though they knew each other very well. Which was true (not in the good sense). But it also made it seem like they were…closer.

 _Not_ true.

And also…no answer from France.

"Okay, you're asleep," Arthur said aloud and turned back to his laptop. "Just don't freak out when we land and you're completely lost as to where we are…okay."

As a matter of fact France would not actually have been lost, as they were on an airplane.

Yes, an airplane. (First-class, too!)

Long story short, something had happened over in the British Embassy; the current ambassador stationed in the U.S. had called out sick or something, and a last-minute replacement had to be made.

Of course it had to be Arthur. Oh, joy.

Well, at least he'd be able to see Alfred (and maybe Maddie). Maybe.

And France…well, she was already working at the French Embassy (lucky her) and had simply been given instructions to return as soon as possible after the world conference.

So, in her own words, she was hitchhiking along.

Which was just great, too.

Why did they always have to be stuck together? (Well, once they got there Arthur wouldn't see much of France for a while – nope, he was _not_ unhappy about that, not at _all_.)

Arthur looked over at her again.

France looked so peaceful in her sleep. Her cheeks were still tinged a rosy pink, and a small almost-smile graced her features, which now looked oddly gentle for some reason. Her eyes were closed, her wavy brown hair slightly out of order but still, somehow, it didn't matter.

What did matter was that she was b-beau… _peaceful!_ Yes, peaceful!

Slowly, as the rational part of his mind screamed and died, Arthur found himself reaching out to brush away a stray lock of brown hair from her face, touching her cheek slightly in the process.

That was when he realized how close they were. His cheeks burned furiously.

 _Damn it. Oh goddamn it._

And then before he knew it he'd leaned even closer and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

He pulled back quickly, whipping back around with lightning speed and trying to act as though nothing had happened, just in case she woke up. In vain he attempted to slow the pounding of his heart, tried to slow the quickening of his breath, as his mind suddenly ran through other possibilities…

France didn't wake up.

* * *

 _Many hours later_

"Francine. Francine!"

There was a voice (a very familiar voice) calling her, but (oddly) calling her by her human name, and Francine was – oh, she was so tired, what in the _world_ was – someone was shaking her shoulders rather hard –

"Francine – goddamn it – wake _up!"_

Francine opened her eyes groggily and stared into a pair of (very familiar) green eyes. They were so close to hers that she had trouble focusing for a moment, and the feeling of warm breath on her face wasn't helping.

"An-Angl – _Arthur?"_ she croaked, feeling barely conscious, and reached out to touch his face. (Which was very red, by the way.)

The moment she did so, his green eyes (which had been staring into hers with something very much like concern) suddenly took on a different expression, and he moved back slightly.

"Good, you're awake," he said grumpily. "You wouldn't wake up for ten minutes - I thought you were dead."

Francine managed a shaky laugh. "Oui, I…I think I crashed, is all…" She pushed him away and took a deep breath. "I'm all right…H-have we landed already?"

"Not yet, but they've just announced it," England said, his voice sounding somewhat different than usual, and turned away. How did he _manage_ with only a few hours of sleep (or none, in Francine's case)…oh wait, she'd given him coffee. That's right.

…England was holding out the canteen to her.

"I…sorry for drinking most of it but…if it helps…" His face as he said that was just really, really awkward. And amusing, too.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, hating that her voice came out much too soft. She moved to take it, and that was when she realized it.

 _England was holding her hand._

Oh, what was she supposed to do…despite the fact that her hand felt perfectly, comfortably _good_ in his…oh mon Dieu.

"Uhm. Uh – Arthur –" she whispered, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

"Yeah."

"You're – uh – my hand…"

"What? Oh…"

England had finally noticed, for his face had turned even redder as he hurriedly let go of her hand and turned back around as though nothing had happened.

"…Sorry."

"It's okay…" Francine winced again at the sound of her voice. Jet lag definitely wasn't doing much good for her voice or her mind right now, the latter of which was now jumping to conclusions and other such things that were, quite frankly, deeply _unnerving…_

The canteen still lay in her lap. She picked it up, opened it, and quickly drank, ignoring the fact that the coffee was already cold and also ignoring the highly disturbing words that were racing around in her head at the moment…

 _…Indirect kiss…_

* * *

 _Some more time later_

"Whew, we're finally here," France was sighing in relief as they left the aeroport and entered Washington, D.C. at last. Arthur scanned the crowd for any familiar faces, but found none. Hmm…America didn't seem to be stalking them at the moment. That was probably a good thing.

He looked over at France, who was actually smiling and taking in all the sights of the city with much appreciation. Another good thing.

Also a good thing was that the tension between them from earlier seemed to have dissipated somewhat, and Arthur found he could actually breathe around her. (Okay. That was rather a long time for discovery, but never mind.)

So now that so many good things had happened, and Arthur could begin to breathe around France, he could also begin observing her better. Of - of course it wasn't as though he _wanted_ to - they were stuck together for a while more so why not!?

Anyway.

He glanced about for anyone looking like government personnel (while keeping France within his range of sight). But no one appeared. Shouldn't there have been someone to pick them up, at the very least? How very rude.

His phone beeped suddenly. Out of habit, he automatically reached to answer it, knowing France was looking his way. The number was private; could be his boss calling again.

"This is Arthur Kirkland," he said.

"Ah, Kirkland!" Sure enough, it was his boss on the other side. "You and Miss Bonnefoy have arrived in America just fine, I hope?"

"Yes," Arthur said cautiously.

* * *

"Angl- uh, _Arthur!_ What are you doing? Stop standing there like an idiot and get in the car!"

Arthur turned to see France looking at him like he was out of his mind. Whoops - he'd been thinking too long. Blame it on his absence of imaginary friends. Sadly, he could never find them here; they might have notified him... Maybe America had driven them away with his staunch non-believerism. At any rate he had now just made a fool of himself.

He sighed inwardly and got into the back of the taxi with France, making sure to keep calm and cool and collected as though nothing had happened at all. That was the best way to go, anyway.

He became aware that France was regarding him closely in the dimness of the car.

"What?" he said, more sharply than he'd intended to. Oops. The earliness of the morning must be grating on his nerves, as usual.

He'd also quite forgotten he was supposed to be a "gentleman." But that could be made up for...right?

France raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong, Arthur?"

Oh lord. This was even more uncomfortable when first names were brought in. First, it made things too personal. Second, it made room - in Arthur's opinion, too much room - for suspicion. Like what if they were calling each other by name because they were _together -_

He quickly crushed the thought before it could show on his face. France was still looking expectantly at him.

"It's nothing," he said shortly.

If possible, France's eyebrow went even higher. Arthur scoffed inwardly at that.

 _Two can play at that game - one shall win - and that will be_ me!

He raised an eyebrow in response. And everything went crazy.

* * *

"You are insane, Angleterre." France gasped, still half-doubled over in laughter. They were standing in front of a closed library, laughing their heads off. Or at least France was.

"Really now." Grumbled Arthur, who was not actually grumpy because she was using his shoulder as support. He didn't even mind that she had just called him by his country name. "You laughed the loudest and gave the driver his almost-heart attack after all."

"But that was because _you_ raised your caterpillar of an eyebrow -"

" _Excuse me -_ " Arthur coughed. "I do _not_ have caterpillars for eyebrows -"

"Oui, you do!" France was smiling up at him, and with a shock, Arthur realized he'd never actually seen her smile like this before. It was a mischievous smile, but a real one all the same. It made him wonder why she didn't smile more often.

Then France tweaked his nose.

" _Hey - ow!"_ Arthur clutched his nose, eyes watering, and glared at a suddenly angelic-looking France. "What was _that_ for!?"

"Ooh, did that _hurt_?" France grinned mischievously, looking at her long, painted nails. "I didn't mean to -"

Arthur huffed and made to turn away.

"Wait, let me see. Is it really bad?"

Reluctantly, Arthur removed his hand. His nose was red and still slightly painful but other than that everything seemed to be all right. France smirked again.

"Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer!"

"I am _not_ a bloody reindeer!" exclaimed Arthur, but France was having too much fun.

"Oui. With that _nez rouge_ of yours, you can light up the sky anytime!"

Arthur grumbled. France turned to him suddenly.

"Tu ne sais pas, but you look so cute right now," she informed him sagely, and Arthur froze. Now he was absolutely certain his nose wasn't the only reddening part of his face. But France just grinned up at him, and before he knew it she'd leaned forward and kissed him right on his nose.

"You're cute, really you are," she whispered, pulling back with a small smile, and the sudden warm feeling in Arthur's chest informed him today might just be a good day after all.

* * *

Please review! Thank you to everyone who did! :3


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